Him
by Angeldream05
Summary: I love him. Of that I'm sure." My very first fanfiction!


**AN: Ok... when I found out this wonderful site and I signed in to write reviews I swore to myself that I would never ever write anything... but here I am, seven months later publishing my first fanfiction! (and maybe last, it depends ^_^ ). This morning i was in my bed in that nice moment between sleep and wake and this popped up in my head. i wrote it down and ten hours later I'm publishing it, before change my mind and decide not to ;-) haha. Anyways... this is my very first fanfiction ever written, i never wrote anything, I'm just totally obsessed with Bones and I read LOTS of fanfics :-D I never imagined ending up publishing a little oneshot... it's from Brennan's POV, i'm 100% sure it's REALLY out of character but hey, I'm a newbie at writing so try to understand ;-) Another thing. I'm Italian, English is not my mother tongue and this piece is not betaed. So sorry for grammar and/or spelling mistakes!**

**Spoilers for Wannabe in the Weeds, Pain in the Heart and Mayhem on a Cross.**

**I don't own Bones! I'm just playing with the characters :)**

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I love _him_. Of that I'm sure.

It took me three to four years to understand it, but now I have no doubts. I used to believe that love didn't exist, but he was right. Love exists. It's _him_.

He snuck into my live without permission and he never left. Almost never, says an annoying little voice inside my head, which rationally does not exist, I know too well that it's just me thinking, but I shut it up anyway.

It still hurt me to think about those two awful weeks of last year. Everyone, even Angela, thought I was coping good and compartmentalizing – I hate that word, I repeated it way too much at that time – but I was just drowning myself into work in order not to think about…about _him_ – and yes, I know it's physically impossible for someone to drown just in papers and bones without any water, but once I heard _him_ say that and I think it's an appropriate expression for what I did in those days – but the couple of nights that I happened to be at home I cried so hard I couldn't breathe, waiting for _someone_ to pop up at my door at 2am with comfort food, someone who wouldn't come ever again. That's why I always slept on the couch in my office.

I was alone. I had lots of people around me trying to console me or cheer me up, but I felt like I was the very last human being on Earth. They were all expecting me to break down, but I didn't. That's the reason I didn't want to go the funeral and I didn't cry. If I did I didn't know what would have happened. Or yes, I knew. I couldn't afford to break down in front of the others because the _one_ person who would have been able to comfort me and put the shattered pieces of me together wasn't there and never would be.

Shattered. That's exactly how I was feeling those days. I was desperately trying to find myself, my old self, the one I was before _him_ but I couldn't find it anymore. That person was gone. The cool compartmentalized doctor, the "ice woman", as someone called me sometimes, was gone. All I had left was this emotional girl who was realizing she was in love with the man she lost. And I didn't like it. But I couldn't help it.

For two weeks I couldn't go to the Diner, or to the Wong Foo's, I didn't eat Thai or Chinese, I never ordered takeout food, whenever at the supermarket I saw pie or even those damn hamburgers I had to fight back tears, everytime "Hot Blooded" appeared on the radio I turned it off – and that ironically happened an unbelievable number of times. I couldn't do anything I used to do with _him_, and that included driving, eating, working – everything.

The FBI asked me if I wanted another agent – I refused. I wasn't out in the field before _him_ and I wouldn't be after. I was in Limbo all day with all those old bones, my very first passion as I said many times, but they didn't have their earlier fascination, they were almost…boring. But at least they didn't talk, they didn't want me to talk, they didn't try to comfort me and they didn't look at me like I was a sad widow – of course they didn't! They are bones, they can't talk or express feelings!

The B-word. I couldn't say that damn 5-letters word for two weeks. Before I hated it. Really hated it. But then, and now more than ever, it has grown on me so much. It makes me feel special and almost… – I can't believe I'm saying this - …_his_. "_My Bones"_ I heard _him_ say that sometimes. At first I was annoyed. I am nobody's property. But now it feels nice to know that maybe I can belong somewhere. Or with someone, most importantly. Not as a bad thing as before.

The day of his funeral, two weeks after his death, he came back and the first word he said was the B-word. He was back. I wanted to kiss _him_. He was back. I wanted to know why he came back. He was back. I wanted to know why he was not dead for two weeks and I thought he was. He was back. I wanted to know why he was so surprised when he saw me looking at him like that. He was back. I wanted to punch _him_. He was back. I did it.

Later I found out that he just had to fake his death – obviously – and I was supposed to know it – I better was! But we had no time to deal about it because Gormogon reappeared and we found out the horrible truth about Zach being his assistant and not only mine. He betrayed us all to our cannibalistic serial killer. I broke down. A little. But this time he was there to pick up my pieces so I could do that.

He's not the only one who came back after his funeral. I came back too.

Life goes on with no changes, but he's always by my side again. I'm out in the field with him again. We go to the Diner, the Wong Foo's again, we order Thai and takeout food again, we have our usual car talk. We bicker like always. We are we again.

Now I just broke down again. A little. I get another little wall fall down. I know that this time is different. It's not just about me and _him_. Now Sweets is here with us too. My latest rambling was for him, to make him feel a little better and to show him that he's not the only one with scars on the back – metaphorically – and that he has a family – sort of.

But when I look up at _him_ and I see his deep warm brown eyes holding back tears I can see how my old experience is affecting _him_ too. I'm not good at reading people, but I can read _him_ easily – sometimes.

He handles me a handkerchief. I make _him_ say something to Sweets too, but at the moment the psychologist is almost forgotten. He looks straight in my eyes when he says that if it hadn't been for his grandfather he would have killed himself when he was a kid. As I keep looking at _him_ my heart breaks – metaphorically speaking, hearts obviously can't break just with sadness – and I silently thank his grandfather.

Now Sweets IS completely forgotten as we lose ourselves in each other's eyes. I reach out and put the handkerchief back in his left breast pocket. I immediately realize that now my hand is right on his heart. I let it linger there and I feel the strong pounding beneath, reminding me he's here, he's alive, almost one year after when I thought I would never have seen _him_ again.

I feel his heart beating and I feel the impossible and irrational wish to own it and to be inside of it. And, as I look up into his eyes again, I have another irrational feeling telling me that I already do. And I already am. Yes, I feel that. I'm not sure how, but I know it. Or maybe it's just a stupid wish of that girl in love that I mentioned before. He loves me. Does he? Yes he does. I don't know how or why would he do that but I know he does.

The evidence is there. I said that many times, I am comfortable with evidence. And most of them are the same I looked for when I was deciding whether or not I was in love with _him_. They are there. Visible to anyone but us. Even if our eyes are now starting to open up, it will still take a while for us to see them clearly. Hope not other four years.

I pull my hand off his heart at the same time he reaches for it, placing his own hand on his heart but mine is not there anymore. Wait. Just wait patiently. Everything happens eventually. Breaking the laws of physics. There is someone for everyone. Someday I will know what love is. These sentences of his keep haunting my thoughts since the last couple of years. Why one day doesn't he say "I am your someone and eventually is now"? And how would I react if…no, _when_ he'll say this? Not sure yet. Maybe I'm not even ready for this yet. Or maybe I am. But _him_?

He drew a line. That was two years ago. I don't know what he thinks about it now. Maybe he's just not ready yet too. Before I said I could read _him_ quite easily, but in this case, and everytime it comes to us, to our feelings, he's always vague and for me he's a sealed, closed book. And I'm not able to open it. Or maybe I'm just too scared. I have to stop that. Being scared. He'll not leave me, not on purpose. I know that. Right now he's here, he's always here by my side and so far that's enough for me.

Although maybe for Christmas I will get _him_ an eraser. Or maybe for his birthday, which is closer.

Until then we will still be Booth and Bones.

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**Here are are at the end of my first story! What do you think? Too horrible? I better go back at only reading? ;-) Let me know! Reviews are very welcome and constructive criticism is very much appreciated :-D**


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